


the sun is there

by ohdeariemegoodness



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Babysitting (unauthorized), Other, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdeariemegoodness/pseuds/ohdeariemegoodness
Summary: The call for emergency aid came in the middle of a rest cycle Optimus had been delaying for more than ninety-six Cybertronian hours past the recommended maximum; as a result, Ratchet did not find it prudent to wake him immediately.  Instead, Optimus woke only after an entire human town had been largely consumed, to the sight of Ironhide waiting beside his rest unit.





	1. Optimus

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to [helloshepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard) for the beta!!

“And what is suffering? I am not afraid of it, even if it were beyond reckoning. I am not afraid of it now. [...] I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.”

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, _The Brothers Karamazov_

* * *

The call for emergency aid came in the middle of a rest cycle Optimus had been delaying for more than ninety-six Cybertronian hours past the recommended maximum; as a result, Ratchet did not find it prudent to wake him immediately.  Instead, Optimus woke only _after_ an entire human town had been largely consumed, to the sight of Ironhide waiting beside his rest unit.

“It’s scraplets,” Ironhide said, before Optimus’s systems had even fully booted up. “An’ worse than that, it’s soporonium-resistant scraplets.”

“You’re certain it’s scraplets?” Optimus asked, already dreading the answer. 

Ironhide nodded, crossing his arms.  “I already lost two good blasters to the damn things, and Bumblebee about lost a leg.  Nothin’ worse than scraplets.”

Ironhide had that right, unfortunately.  And if there was one thing worse than scraplets, it was soporonium-resistant scraplets.  Besides being determined to consume you, the things were nigh impossible to kill under the best of circumstances.  The usual strategy was a soporonium bomb, which would render them temporarily inert, followed by displacement to a nutrient-poor asteroid in a distant and uninhabited solar system.  Without soporonium, they would have to try and capture them individually, _without_ losing any critical components. 

“Send me the coordinates,” Optimus told him, grimly, and got up and headed for the armory.  

Optimus arrived at the human city to find most of the Autobots gathered together waiting, and a distinct lack of blaster fire in the background.The Protectobots and the Aerialbots, at least, were busy evacuating the humans.  Ratchet was working on Bumblebee’s leg.

“They aren’t scraplets,” Ratchet told him, when he asked. Bumblebee sent them both an image capture of the thing that had gotten a chunk out of his leg, which was basically an upside down bowl with teeth; it looked an awful lot like a scraplet to Optimus. 

When he said as much, Ratchet scowled.  “Don’t argue with me. I know what scraplets look like.  That thing doesn’t even have a proper mouth,” he added, to Bumblebee.

Optimus looked out at the destruction: half-chewed vehicles and human waste receptacles littered the streets, and in the distance, a building toppled in a plume of smoke and debris.  He looked back at Ratchet. “So what are they, then?”

“Worse,” Ratchet said.  “ _Sparklings._ And it looks like at least fifty of them, considering the magnitude of the destruction.” 

Optimus’s logic unit was quick to point out the inconsistency.  He typically assigned Ratchet’s observations a high accuracy rating, but Optimus felt strongly that it would be impossible to miraculously revive the Well without him knowing.  “They can’t be sparklings,” Optimus said.

“This explains what the Decepticons have been doing with all that trinium, at least,” Ratchet said, as if Optimus hadn’t spoken.

“Ratchet, there hasn’t been a single sparkling in millions of years,” Optimus said.  “Much less an entire _horde_ of them.  It’s impossible to online incomplete Cybertronians without the Well.” 

“Well, obviously not anymore,” Ratchet said.  “I guess it was only a matter of time before Soundwave and Shockwave figured it out; they’ve been inventing new ways to spark Decepticons for years.” 

Optimus fed that into his events processor and forced it to integrate.  Experience showed that if Ratchet thought he was right, he probably was, and Optimus would only regret arguing about it in the end.  When it was done, he didn’t necessarily feel any better, but his logic unit was willing to accept sparklings as a working hypothesis. 

“At least sparklings won’t want to eat us,” Bluestreak said, optimistically.  He’d come over to stare at the image capture. 

Bumblebee lifted his damaged leg pointedly, then winced. “Ouch.” 

“They’re _Decepticon_ sparklings,” Ratchet said.  “They will absolutely consume us.  And, for that matter, any Decepticons they can get to stand still long enough. Cybertronians are very nutrient-dense.” 

“I don’t think I needed to hear that,” Bumblebee said, looking down at his leg.

Before Optimus could respond, Jazz came running over, broadcasting a high-priority alert. 

“We got a Decepticon sighting,” Jazz said.  “Megatron’s maybe four astrominutes out, with Soundwave and Starscream behind ‘im—Blaster just got the alert from Teletran-One.”

“Maybe we can beat some answers out of ‘em,” Ironhide grumbled, pulling what Optimus knew to be his third-favorite blaster out of subspace.  He recognized the double-barreled design, and Sunstreaker’s decorative handiwork.

Optimus sighed.  “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he said, readying his own weapon.  “Jazz, have the Aerialbots and Protectobots continue the evacuations,” he said.  “Bluestreak, you stay behind to guard Bumblebee and Ratchet. Everyone else, with me.”

By the time they got to the city center, where most of the sparklings were located, Megatron and Starscream were already touching down, with a full raiding party coming in hot behind them.  The Autobots were outnumbered, Optimus realized, but human lives would be lost if he recalled anyone from the evacuations, and the Dinobots were still en route; he could only hope that Megatron wouldn’t want to start fighting so near to the sparklings.

“Megatron,” Optimus greeted him.  “I see you’ve found your sparklings.”  

“Mmm,” Megatron said, hands on his hips, and his optics glowing with satisfaction.  He’d planted himself on top a pile of concrete and steel which had clearly been a human building.  “They _are_ magnificent,” he said to Soundwave, who’d come to stand behind him.  “I’ll have to reward Shockwave for this.”

One sparkling whirled by, dangerously close to Jazz; Optimus grabbed him and pulled him up onto a pile of rubble, then waved for the others to find higher ground as well.  With adequate motivation, the sparklings were obviously more than capable of demolishing the piles, but it would buy them a little time.

“They’re hardly that impressive,” Starscream sniffed.  “They don’t even have weapons.”

“No matter—they can consume Autobots perfectly fine without them,” Megatron gloated.  He turned to Optimus. “Have they eaten anyone yet? I assure you that they will. A sparkling’s hunger can’t be sated by these primitive human structures.” 

“They’ve certainly caused more than enough destruction already without that,” Optimus said, choosing not to mention Bumblebee’s leg.  “Why would you think to bring them here? Earth is no place for sparklings—our _war_ is no place for sparklings.  They could have been seriously damaged, Megatron.” 

“The sparklings can take care of themselves,” Starscream sneered.  A screech sounded behind him, followed by a resounding clang; they all turned to look and saw Wildrider backing uphill from a sparkling, clutching his hand. 

“It ate my fingers!” he cried, waving the damaged hand.  Sure enough, it was missing two digits and part of the palm.  “I thought they were only supposed to eat _Autobots_ .”     

“Shouldn’t have been messing with it, moron,” Motormaster said, and cuffed him on the head.  Wildrider moved to hide behind Breakdown, crouching and sulking with dimmed optics.

Megatron was still surveying the sparklings, unfazed; a good group of them had gotten together and were consuming the remains of a parking garage, vehicles and all.  Optimus found it slightly disconcerting to watch.

“If you are unwilling to relocate your own sparklings, we will be forced to do so on your behalf,” Optimus told him, sternly.  “They cannot be allowed to visit this level of destruction on the indigenous population.”

Megatron snorted.  “I’d like to see you try,” he said.  “These aren’t the pathetic, _useless_ sparklings _your_ kind favors—these are Decepticon warriors, and with every Autobot they consume, they will only grow stronger.” 

He turned around to face the other Decepticons after one last satisfied look at the sparklings.  “We’re done here. Return to base,” he said, and they all took off.

Optimus exchanged looks with Jazz as they walked back to Ratchet’s makeshift repair center; Megatron’s utter lack of concern was _not_ a good sign.  Megatron wasn’t known for his caring nature, but the sparklings would grow into valuable fighters.  If Megatron thought the Autobots could contain the sparklings, he wouldn’t be leaving them undefended. 

“Nothin’ for it, O.P.,” Jazz said.  “We gotta get things under control, and then we can start figurin’ out how to get the sparklin’s off-planet.” 

Optimus couldn’t have said it better himself. 

 

It took several hours to get the human city fully evacuated, and then they all had to get started on containment. Optimus had the Dinobots start creating an enticing pile of scrap in the middle of the city, and roped everyone else into creating a border of sorts.  They cleared out all the metal, concrete, and other consumables for a full kilometer out all the way around the city, and piled it all up for the Dinobots to drag in.

“That should keep the sparklings occupied while we figure out what to do about them,” Ratchet said, after he’d finished with his assigned section of the border.  He was picking chunks of concrete out of his joints. “But we don’t have forever. There isn’t any durasteel in there, and the humans do produce petrochemicals, but there probably aren’t enough to satisfy them for long.  We’ll need to have Skyfire fly over and drop fresh consumables from overhead.”

Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken long to get scans that confirmed Megatron’s claims; they _were_ Decepticon sparklings.  They didn’t look or behave anything like Autobot sparklings, which as far as Optimus remembered, were typically smaller, flatter, and completely harmless.  They hadn’t been created all that often, even before the war, since they required constant caretaking and hand-feeding of pre-processed materials. It was much easier to simply factory-spark a fully built mech. 

Optimus had never even _heard_ of Decepticon sparklings.  As far as he’d known, Decepticons were always factory built.  Ratchet just shook his head when Optimus asked about it.

“Decepticon sparklings are too dangerous for caretakers,” Ratchet explained.  “But if you try and build them to safer specs, they either won’t initialize or you go too far the other way and they develop an Autobot brain type after all.  Before the war, they used to let them loose somewhere uninhabited, and maintain a containment field to keep them there until they fully developed.”

The outlook wasn’t good, if that was the established method of dealing with them; Optimus had everyone get together and establish a temporary base right outside of the city, to keep an eye on things.  He was starting to suspect they would be there for a while.

“Ratchet had the right idea earlier about dropping off new materials,” Wheeljack said, once they were all gathered in the temporary command center. He pointed at the live feed Blaster had gotten set up with a view of the scrap pile; the sparklings had already made an impressive dent.  “They’ll eat continuously while they’re active, and only take brief rest periods to integrate materials. If they run out, they _will_ start looking for fresh sources. Not to mention that these guys will be hyperactive for a while—trinium can absorb and store most material energy sources for system use, and we were all out there with energy weapons earlier.”    

Optimus suddenly recalled Ratchet’s earlier comment about the trinium. The Decepticons had acquired nearly a thousand tons of trinium some months ago, after capturing what the Autobots had believed to be a defunct cobalt mine.  They’d only found out about the trinium when Drag Strip had started bragging about it during battle, and by that point, the Decepticons had already stripped the mine bare. Optimus had put it into long term strategic processing and tried not to think about it too much; trinium had a myriad of military uses, none of them good news for the Autobots.  He certainly hadn’t anticipated that Megatron would use the trinium to build _sparklings_.

“You’re certain the sparklings were made with trinium?” Optimus asked.  The sparklings were their own kind of challenge, but they weren’t the impervious trinium-plated warship with trinium-enhanced weaponry he had feared. 

“Ratchet ran a neutron-level scan to be sure,” Wheeljack said, and pulled up the scan for him on the monitor.  The image looked deceptively harmless; just a simple domed shell with two comparatively small blades designed to spin around the bottom.  “The trinium prevented us from getting a detailed internal scan, but their outer paneling at least is solid trinium, and so are the blades they use to tear apart consumable material.” 

The screen switched to a picture of a sparkling’s underside; presumably the last picture transmitted by some unfortunate camera drone.  Wheeljack pointed at the concentric circles of tiny rotating teeth. “These teeth are trinium, too. Altogether, that’s about seven tons of trinium for each sparkling.  Based on their density, it looks like their inner structure is comprised of durasteel supports and solid plutonium.”

“The plutonium is what allows them to process consumables as fuel, and to integrate them into their frames,” Ratchet added.  “That’s something else they’ll be needing more of. Any unstable material, really, not just plutonium.”

“Are they truly dense enough to carry seven tons of trinium plating?” Optimus asked.  The sparklings were tiny, almost the same size as scraplets—hence the earlier confusion.  Seven tons seemed excessive.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Wheeljack told him.  “They’re massively dense. And thanks to the trinium, completely impenetrable.”   

The base computer forwarded Optimus a ping with an incoming transmission, a voice-based call from one of the human governmental authorities. He sighed heavily, but went into the only private room in the temporary base and accepted the transmission.  Putting the conversation off wouldn’t make it any easier.

Naturally, the humans were supremely unhappy about their destroyed settlement.  They wanted to fight the sparklings off right away, which would be inadvisable even if it _wasn’t_ purely unethical, as the sparklings would happily consume any ammunition thrown at them, and were apparently fond of nuclear energy in particular. As it was, Optimus could not even allow the attempt.

“If you attack, we will be forced to stop you,” Optimus explained to the human representative—a female of their species, dressed in formal military garments. “Until we are able to generate a relocation strategy, we will do our best to keep the sparklings contained and prevent them from consuming any additional human habitations.  However, we cannot permit attacks on our young.”

“You just told me that they’re _Decepticons,_ ” she protested. “They’re not yours! And they just destroyed an _entire town_.  What will happen to all of the people who just lost their homes?”

“They are sparklings,” Optimus explained, perhaps less patiently than he would’ve liked.  “They are analogous to human infants.” He felt for the humans, but no lives had been lost, and the sparklings were purely incapable of ethical reasoning.  The Decepticons who dumped them on a human settlement, on the other hand, were perfectly capable, and they would eventually answer for their crimes. “Know that I have great sympathy for those humans who have been displaced—rest assured that we _will_ deal with the ones who are ultimately responsible for this destruction.”

Somewhat mollified, she allowed Optimus to turn the discussion to more proactive concerns—namely, the materials needed to keep the sparklings from searching out new nutritional sources.  Amazingly, although they were unable to produce durasteel, the humans had maintained massive stockpiles of unwanted radioactive material and solid petrochemicals.

“And there’s more where that came from,” Spike said, when Optimus wondered about it several days later.  “You wouldn’t believe the amount of trash us humans can make.”

“Are humans not aware this material can be converted to energy?” Ratchet asked, which was how they learned that the radioactive materials were actually _byproducts_ of human energy-producing processes, and were actively toxic to organic life besides. The humans were apparently piling them up in caves or burying them underground and hoping for the best.  Optimus could hardly understand the reasoning behind it, but it was certainly convenient.

They were getting Skyfire loaded up for his first flyover—best to have the materials freely available, lest the sparklings get hungry, or worse, _bored—_ when Jazz came running over from the command center. 

“Optimus, you’re gonna wanna come look at this,” Jazz said, leading him inside and pointing at the viewscreen, which showed the sparklings zooming back and forth in the center of the screen, and—

“Is that Brawl?” Optimus asked. 

“And Vortex,” Jazz said.

The two of them were standing on top of a fallen building, throwing pieces of debris at the sparklings and laughing uproariously.  Optimus watched flabbergasted. Decepticon sparklings were dangerous, and this particular batch incredibly so; Vortex and Brawl were literally risking death and dismemberment to—taunt sparklings?    

“I think they’re _playin’_ with them,” Jazz said. 

As Optimus watched longer, it became clear that _was_ what they were doing.  Vortex and Brawl seemed to be running some sort of private contest, possibly based on which of them could get the most sparklings to chase after the object they’d thrown.  Even the sparklings seemed to be playing along; they certainly didn’t have the neural capacity to understand the game, but they _did_ seem to be enjoying themselves, whirling around and bumping into each other while they waited for the next thing to chase.  Optimus wasn’t sure if he was just reading too much into it, or if they were truly capable of experiencing—anticipation.

“Is this normal behavior for sparklings?”  Optimus asked. Ratchet’s description of Decepticon sparklings—not to mention the extent of their earlier destruction—seemed to indicate a complete systems focus on resource acquisition that was at odds with their current behavior.  He wondered if these sparklings had somehow been built with an instruction set that would prevent them from attacking other Decepticons.

“I don’t know, O.P.,” Jazz said.  “I never was one. An’ I hear you can’t remember it anyways.”  

They stood there watching for a few more moments, but no other Decepticons appeared, and Vortex and Brawl simply continued their game.  Optimus left Jazz at the monitors with instructions to keep an eye on things, and went to go find Ratchet.

 

As it turned out, Brawl and Vortex were just the start of a larger pattern. As the weeks dragged on with no viable relocation plan in sight, more and more Decepticons started showing up, usually only for a couple hours at a time. None of them attacked, or even attempted to remove any sparklings from the containment zone.  Optimus ordered constant surveillance of the area, with instructions to alert him immediately if Megatron or any of his command staff showed up, but otherwise ordered the Autobots not to engage.

He did wonder about it, though. Ratchet thought it was just routine thrill-seeking behavior, which Decepticons _were_ prone to—it was a common side effect of desensitized or malfunctioning risk-evaluation modules—but Optimus was less certain. He’d had plenty of experience with Decepticon thrill-seeking behavior himself, and although it certainly did result in unpredictable and ill-advised actions, those actions were generally a little more—well, _active._ The location was dangerous, but the Decepticons mostly just sat around watching the sparklings tear through debris and attempt to consume each other, possibly having learned their lesson the first time, when Wildrider lost part of his hand. Still, it wasn’t like he couldn’t think of another explanation.

It turned out he did need to think of one, though, because after a few more weeks, Ratchet came dragging First Aid behind him into their makeshift command center. 

“You’re not going to believe where I found him, Optimus,” Ratchet said.  He released First Aid, who promptly folded his arms across his chest, clearly upset. 

“Where did you find him?” Optimus asked, playing along.

“Right in the middle of the containment zone!”  Ratchet threw his hands up. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, I really don’t.” 

Optimus frowned; it wasn’t like First Aid to pick fights with the Decepticons, and especially not in the face of a no-contact order.  “What were you doing out there, First Aid?”

“I was visiting the sparklings!” First Aid said.  “I don’t understand why you won’t let us go out there.  The Decepticons get to visit! It’s not fair.”

Optimus blinked.  “The sparklings are very dangerous,” he tried.  

“I know that,” First Aid said.  “I’m a medic. But they can’t help it, they’re _sparklings_ .  Besides, I’ve been careful—we’re all being careful.  They haven’t eaten anyone yet, even though I saw Wildrider try to ride one yesterday.” 

“You were out there yesterday, too?” Ratchet asked.  “Why hasn’t anyone reported you? I thought we had a constant watch,” he added, to Optimus. 

“I thought so as well,” Optimus said, dryly.

“I know where the cameras are,” First Aid said.  “Anyway, Jazz said he wouldn’t tell on me when I told him I wanted to meet them.  He thinks the sparklings should have caregivers, too!”

“But why do you want to meet them?” Ratchet asked, clearly lost.  “I know you’re familiar with sparkling anatomy and development. They don’t _have_ personalities yet.”

“Not _yet_ !” First Aid cried.  “Of course I know they don’t have whole personalities, they don’t have the neural capacity.  But they’re _going to._ They’re working on it!” 

Optimus smiled, despite himself; truly, it lifted his heart to see First Aid’s empathy extended even to the sparklings.  Though the sparklings— _Decepticon_ sparklings—were certainly dangerous, First Aid wasn’t wrong to marvel at what the Decepticons had accomplished.  Each sparkling was a completely new being, suffused with potential.

“You must content yourself with watching from the live feed,” Optimus told him.  “Beyond the simple danger of the sparklings, there is the matter of the Decepticon visitors to the containment zone.  We simply can’t risk escalating the situation, especially when a battle could inadvertently release the sparklings to lay waste to additional human settlements.”

“I haven’t let the Decepticons see me,” First Aid argued.

“Enough, First Aid,” Ratchet said.  “You know why Decepticon sparklings don’t have caretakers. Their appetites are too great, and their construction too dangerous.  Not to mention the humans—it’s pure luck that none were killed when the sparklings initially arrived. If these sparklings get free, there will certainly be human casualties before we can get them contained again.” 

“The sparklings are safe, and far from neglected,” Optimus assured First Aid, who seemed to be coming around.  “Will you feel better if you are allowed to accompany Skyfire on his supply runs?”

First Aid grudgingly accepted this solution, and let Ratchet talk him into a shift watching the monitors, so he could continue to observe the sparklings from a safer distance.

Satisfied with this resolution, Optimus sent Jazz a reminder of his duties regarding operational security—namely, that no Autobots should be breaching the containment zone, not even First Aid.  At that point, considering the matter closed, he pushed the situation out of primary processing.

Not two days later, Optimus was in a meeting with Prowl, drafting a diplomatic notice to Megatron that they would be relocating the sparklings to Mars. Cosmos had surveyed the planet and identified an acceptable location, a large igneous region known to the humans as Tharsis, which had abundant natural deposits of unrefined ores.  Of course, Wheeljack hadn’t quite determined how the sparklings would be moved, but they had decided not to communicate that particular setback to Megatron.

“If Megatron believes we’ve developed a way to move the sparklings, there is a statistically significant chance that he will decide to relocate them himself,” Prowl said.  “He won’t want the sparklings in Autobot custody.”

“That would neatly solve the problem of moving them,” Optimus allowed.  “Of course, Wheeljack will be disappointed to have his project interrupted.”  Wheeljack was currently working on some manner of density-reduction ray; Optimus had not yet inquired as to the details, but he’d been assured that the effects would only be temporary. 

“He should complete the project regardless,” Prowl advised.  “Based on Wheeljack and Ratchet’s estimates, the Decepticons used approximately fifty-five percent of their trinium stores to produce this batch of sparklings.  If these sparklings are deemed successful, they may choose to build another batch. Of course, there are many other potential uses for the trinium—there’s a report in the queue with the potential uses listed in order of statistical likelihood.”

“Thank you, Prowl,” Optimus told him.  He’d seen the report, although he wasn’t quite prepared to download it into strategic processing.  He was turning the conversation to potential alternatives if Megatron _didn’t_ take the bait when the base computer sent him a ping alerting him that Prowl was entering the room. Optimus shot a confused look at Prowl, who was sitting right beside him.

Jazz came rushing in instead, apparently having used Prowl’s encryption key to gain entrance into the sealed conference room.

“Jazz, explain how—” Prowl started, standing up, but Jazz cut him off. 

“No time to argue, Prowler.”  He turned to Optimus, grim. “First Aid is gone.” 

“What happened?” Optimus asked.  His secondary emotional processes, responding to his sudden alarm, triggered his combat systems and placed internal weaponry on standby. 

“Skywarp,” Jazz said.  “First Aid was drivin’ between base and here, just bringin’ back supplies.  Skywarp just came out of nowhere and snatched him up. Set off an automatic emergency transmission, but not fast enough to stop him.” 

A targeted attack, then, rather than a crime of opportunity.  Deeply concerned, Optimus exchanged a look with Prowl. They could only hope that First Aid would be able to hang on while a rescue operation was mounted.


	2. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid was still fighting to get away when Skywarp dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor in the Decepticon command center. He transformed into vehicle mode and instantly made for the door—and promptly bounced off a wall that appeared out of nowhere. Slowly, he looked up to see Megatron, clearly fuming—and First Aid had just _run into his legs._

First Aid was still fighting to get away when Skywarp dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor in the Decepticon command center.  He transformed into vehicle mode and instantly made for the door—and promptly bounced off a wall that appeared out of nowhere. Slowly, he looked up to see Megatron, clearly fuming—and First Aid had just _run into his legs.  
_

First Aid scrambled back, transforming haphazardly.  He’d never even been captured before, much less by _Megatron_.  He’d only ever come face to face with Megatron as part of Defensor; this was _not_ the same _at all._  

Megatron didn’t bother with any pleasantries.  “What have you done to them?” he demanded, optics blazing.  His cannon was powered up and pointed straight at First Aid.

“What?” First Aid tried to say, but his vocal unit refused to engage, all of his systems currently occupied with sheer terror. 

“ _Answer me_ ,” Megatron growled, and First Aid’s motivator finally kicked into gear.

“Who are you talking about?” First Aid manages. 

“You _know_ who I’m talking about,” Megatron said, dangerously.  “And you _will_ tell me what’s been done to them, and then you’ll show Hook how to fix it, or I’ll have you smelted down into throne room decorations before I start on the other medic.” 

First Aid could barely pull a coherent thought together with the cannon still pointed at him, but his combat triage unit had its own motivator, designed to keep him functioning in times of complete system stress; without warning, it took over, pushing emotional routines into subconscious processing, and giving him space to think.

“Wait,” First Aid said, “Are you talking about the sparklings?”

Megatron fired, slagging the entire wall and half of the floor behind First Aid.  First Aid went scrambling.

“My patience is running thin,” Megatron said, his voice low and dangerous.

First Aid panted a little, intensely grateful for the triage unit that kept him up and running. “No one has done anything to the sparklings,” he tried to explain.  He thought vaguely that he wasn’t looking forward to re-experiencing this in defrag. 

Hook snorted, and First Aid startled; he hadn’t even realized there was anyone else in the room, too focused on Megatron.  Soundwave was there, too, standing silent at a console. 

“We know they’ve been tampered with,” Hook said, “so don’t bother with your Autobot lies.” 

First Aid was quite certain that no Autobot had been “tampering” with any of the sparklings, but he could see it was pointless to try and convince the Decepticons of _that_ .

“I don’t know what’s happened,” First Aid said, carefully, “but maybe I can still help.  Can you describe the symptoms you’ve seen?” Hopefully he could still help them address the problem, whatever it was.  Hook was a talented surgeon, but First Aid knew that he didn’t have any experience with sparklings; First Aid barely had any himself, unfortunately, besides one brief assignment at a sparkling facility during his apprenticeship.  It would have been better if they’d kidnapped Ratchet, he thought a little guiltily.  

“None of their behavior is within normal parameters,” Hook snapped.  “They aren’t exploring, they’ve hardly consumed anything—we’ve been monitoring the materials the Autobots have been dropping off for contaminants, so I know for a fact they’ve had no duryllium in their diet at all, and yet they ignore the nutrients right in front of them!  I haven’t even seen them attempt to consume a single Cybertronian in weeks, but I _have_ seen them out there _playing_ with Autobots,” he added, pointedly.

Soundwave brought up a live feed of the sparklings, significantly more expansive than the feed the Autobots had gotten set up; they had a view of nearly the entire city, and the makeshift command center besides.  Jazz wasn’t going to be happy about that.

“Look at them,” Hook said.  “They’re not even _trying_ to escape.”   

It _was_ odd that they hadn’t been trying to break out of the containment zone.  First Aid had privately thought that the border they’d set up wouldn’t last even forty-eight hours; instead, it had held for _weeks_ .  Decepticon sparklings were generally hellbent on getting _out_.  The sparkling facility First Aid had worked at had a single batch of Decepticon sparklings, and he’d seen it himself, sparklings throwing themselves furiously at the shielding until they ran out of energy.

_Those_ sparklings hadn’t been trinium-plated, so they’d all been dented and leaking oil in smears on the wall of the containment field.  First Aid had found it extremely upsetting, actually, and had wanted to let them out—but of course he could not, since the sparklings would then naturally go on a destructive rampage.   Sparklings did occasionally manage to bust out of their containment fields, if there were enough of them, and that was always the outcome.  

First Aid initiated an internal search, but he couldn’t find anything concrete that would explain the sparklings’ odd behavior in his medical archives.  It was possible that their personality construction had something to do with it, but truthfully, they shouldn’t have the neural capacity to make abnormal behavior choices yet, tampering or no tampering.  He said as much to Hook. 

“In fact,” he added, “if anything, I think it’s most likely to be an environmental factor at play.  I’d like a system scan to be sure, but that would mean we’d need to capture one, and I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.” 

The sparklings were massively dense, resistant to any number of neuroviral agents that might render them unconscious, and largely consisted of armor and spinning teeth made out of the strongest metal known to Cybertronians.  The Autobots hadn’t figured out how to capture even one of them yet, much less move the lot of them anywhere.    

“We’ve got some ideas,” Hook said shortly.  “Come with me.”

First Aid followed behind obediently, and risked a glance at Megatron on the way out.  Megatron had thrown himself into his chair, and was still staring right at him, clearly fuming; First Aid squeaked and hurried after Hook. 

Hook led him to the upper levels and into a cavernous room that appeared to be a materials hangar.  

“There you are,” Scrapper said, when they walked in.  He and the other Constructicons were working on what looked like a pile of scrap metal that had been squashed into a flat disk.  “Come get this wiring put in.” He gestured with his welder, then bent back down over whatever it was.  

Hook got to it, and First Aid sat down to wait.  He brought up his tertiary archives and started searching for relevant medical files to bring out of deep storage. Sadly, there wasn’t much on Decepticon sparklings; he found some interesting studies on _Autobot_ sparkling development, but he wasn’t sure how helpful that was going to be. Still, he pulled it all into primary memory. 

Scrapper whirled around when First Aid started digging around in his subspace for a datachip.  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Looking for a datachip?” First Aid said, pulling one out from where it was wedged between an external scanner and a set of nonstandard-sized clutch head screwdrivers.   

“And what, exactly, are you planning to do with it?” Scrapper asked, suspicious.

First Aid loaded the files he’d pulled up onto it and handed it over.  “This is everything I have in my personal medical archives about sparkling development,” he explained. 

Hook jerked up from his wiring.  “Give me that!” he said. 

“You can have it when Soundwave is done with it,” Scrapper said, handing it over to Ravage, who’d appeared silently out of nowhere.  Ravage took the chip and padded off without a word. 

Hook went back to work, grumbling under his breath.  Even though First Aid was watching him finalize the electrical wiring, it wasn’t until Mixmaster started covering the top of the disk with a thick layer of rubber that First Aid realized what they were doing.

“Is that an electromagnet you’re working on?” he asked.  He lifted a hand, scanning, and sure enough, what he’d taken as mixed scrap metal was actually pure trinium _._

Wheeljack had been playing around with the same idea, but he’d ended up dismissing it due to material constraints.  Most metals wouldn’t work—they had to be made ultramagnetic to overcome the density issue, but the added force endangered the sparklings’ less robust internal components.  Trinium, though, had the same ferromagnetic polarization rating as the sparklings’ plating, so if the electromagnetic force was applied properly, theoretically it would be _just_ strong enough to work.   

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” he couldn’t help but add.  “Are these left over from the sparklings’ construction?” 

“Duh,” Mixmaster said.  “Why else would we be using scraps?  We have like, mountains of trinium. Scrapper has _ideas_ .  You guys are gonna get wrecked.”

“Shut up,” Scrapper said, knocking Mixmaster roughly upside the head.  “Quit fraternizing with the enemy.” He turned on First Aid. “And you can shut up, too.  You’re here to undo whatever you did to the sparklings, and then you’re headed straight to the brig to wait on Prime to pay your ransom.” 

Mixmaster rubbed his head, grumbling resentfully at Scrapper, who ignored him.  Still staring stonily at First Aid, Scrapper opened up his comm panel and summoned Long Haul to come transport the device—apparently they’d named it the “Snatcher.” 

“I haven’t done anything to the sparklings,” First Aid told Scrapper.  “I _wouldn’t_ , not even if they really were breaking loose and trying to eat us like we thought they would.  I don’t care if they’re dangerous, they’re _sparklings._ ”

Scrapper snorted, and behind him, so did Hook.  “You can quit with the innocent act. We’ve _seen_ you out there, so you’re not fooling any of us.”

First Aid looked away, oddly distressed.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the Decepticons genuinely believed he would harm their sparklings—certainly the Decepticons would be happy enough to sabotage any Autobot sparklings they could get their hands on.  But something in First Aid ached to hear it anyways. 

“Go get what you need from the infirmary,” Scrapper told Hook, after Long Haul arrived and they got the Snatcher loaded up.  “Megatron doesn’t want to risk the sparkling getting loose on base, so we’ll have to set up a temporary worksite when we get there.” 

Hook left, and Scrapper turned around and looked thoughtfully at First Aid, then went to one wall of the warehouse and pulled a section of chain free from some unused equipment.  “Autobot,” he commanded, and First Aid came over a little apprehensively. 

“Can’t use stasis cuffs, but can’t have you running off, either,” Scrapper said, apparently aware that stasis cuffs would prevent First Aid from accessing medical transformations.  He twisted part of the chain around one of First Aid’s wrists and welded it together, then gave it a good yank to test it. First Aid’s arm jerked forward uncomfortably.

“That’ll have to do,” Scrapper said, and handed the makeshift leash to Mixmaster.  

  


Megatron and the others had apparently already gone to fetch the sparkling, so First Aid got brought along with the Constructicons to build the temporary infirmary.  It was always a little bizarre to see how fast they could work; as soon as they got there, all the Constructicons got started on their individual tasks: Mixmaster churning out supports and then laying concrete while Hook lowered the supports into place, Scrapper and Scavenger getting the walls thrown up and the roof laid while Long Haul darted back and forth with materials.  By the time Scrapper received the alert that the captured sparkling was in transit, Hook and First Aid were already getting the scanning equipment set up. 

Starscream and Thundercracker flew in with the sparkling dangling furiously from the Snatcher, struggling as much as it could with its teeth whirring around madly.  First Aid giggled a little as they got the Snatcher turned over and set down on the ground, then took off, leaving the sparkling balanced upside down wriggling on the Snatcher’s magnetic plate. 

“What are you laughing about?”  Scrapper snapped. 

“He’s so cute,” First Aid told him, still smiling under his mask.  The sparkling’s defensive design was of course incredibly effective, but right now it looked like an overturned and extremely irritated roboturtle.   

“ _Cute_ ,” Hook muttered, slotting the last remaining cable into the scanner.  “Okay, Scrapper, we’re ready for scanning.” He handed First Aid a few pieces of trinium plating from a small pile.  “Here, put that on.” 

First Aid copied Hook, attaching the plating to his arms and chest. Presumably the trinium had been electromagnetically charged to the reversed frequency of the Snatcher—the effect was temporary, but it would keep them from getting stuck to the magnet themselves.  Once their protective equipment was on, Hook dragged First Aid over by his wrist to get the diagnostic equipment arranged around the sparkling for an external scan.   

Unfortunately, the first external scan came back as a thick, blurry wall of trinium.  Worse than that, _Megatron_ showed up to supervise. 

“I really think we need an internal scan,” First Aid said, glancing nervously over at Megatron, then quickly looking away when Megatron turned to stare right at him. 

“Well, look for an access port,” Hook says.  “I swear we designed them with an external access port on the lower ventral edge, but I’m not finding one.”

“Sparklings _are_ prone to—spontaneous resource reallocation,” First Aid said, morosely.  He _really_ hoped they could find an external access port.

“There aren’t any external access ports,” Hook finally decided, after they’d both gone over the sparkling twice with optical magnification engaged in an increasingly desperate search.

“Figure it out, Hook,” Megatron snapped, clearly growing impatient.  “Starscream and the others won’t be able to keep the Autobots busy forever.” 

Hook eyed the sparkling warily.  “They should have internal access ports,” he said, after a minute.

“Internal?”  First Aid looked at the sparkling, too; its teeth were still whirling.  It wasn’t quite as funny now, when someone was going to have to try and get a diagnostic scanning cable in there.  

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made the teeth out of trinium,” Hook muttered under his breath.

“We could give it some plutonium?” First Aid suggested.  “Sparklings _do_ take rest cycles if they have enough material to integrate.  Plutonium should jumpstart the integration process.”     

“Not a bad idea, Autobot,” Hook said, looking surprised.  “Scavenger, locate some plutonium for us. I think the Autobots have been dropping some with the other raw material.” 

“We have,” First Aid confirmed.  He risked another glance at Megatron, and breathed a sigh of relief when he seemed to be occupied with reports. 

Scavenger went to get the plutonium, and Hook collected some chunks of concrete with steel jutting out of them off the ground, and started dropping them down into the sparkling’s spinning teeth. 

“So it has plenty of raw material to digest,” Hook explained, when he noticed First Aid watching. 

First Aid nodded, and pulled a thick chunk of raw durasteel out of his subspace.  “I was saving it for the next visit,” he told Hook, conversationally, “but I guess this counts!”  He dropped in the durasteel, which the sparkling gobbled up instantly. 

“You know,” First Aid said, “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see any sparklings again.”  He hadn’t—they were so expensive to build and maintain, and they couldn’t work at all until they’d completed their development.

“Well you can’t have these,” Scrapper interjected, nonsensically. 

First Aid looked over at him, confused, but Megatron chose that moment to come over and inspect the sparkling himself. First Aid hurriedly scooted back out of the way.  Hook had already started a series of stronger external scans running while they waited, but Megatron easily dodged the scanning arm, running a hand thoughtfully along the sparkling’s side.  When Scavenger got back, Megatron held a hand out imperiously for the plutonium.

First Aid smiled beneath his mask.  Megatron wasn’t— _gentle_ about it, like an Autobot might be—but he clearly _did_ care for the sparklings.  First Aid couldn’t believe it was just an appreciation for their tactical value, no matter what Ironhide and Ratchet thought.  On the other hand, First Aid realized, with a sudden spike of terror, emotional investment meant that Megatron was _more_ likely to destroy First Aid if he wasn’t satisfied with the results, not less.    

When the sparkling finally drifted off into a rest cycle, Hook carefully ran a camera line in between its teeth to find and illuminate the internal access port.  On the other side of the sparkling, First Aid bent a long piece of sturdy wiring in half to make extra-long tweezers, then used them to try and maneuver the diagnostic scanner’s cable into place. 

“Be easier if you used your hands,” Hook pointed out, laughing to himself when First Aid shot him an outraged look.  

“Maybe you should try using _your_ hands,” First Aid told him, momentarily forgetting about Megatron.  “You’re a much more experienced surgeon than I am, after all.” 

That made _Megatron_ laugh, and First Aid ducked his head and focused on getting the cable connected, optics widening a little hysterically underneath his visor. 

Once it was in, Hook came over to run his scan, but he didn’t look particularly pleased when he unplugged from the scanner.  “Nothing useful,” he said. “I’ll run it through a second-level analysis, but the results look too clean to produce anything."

“Here, let me plug in,” First Aid said.  “Autobot scans prioritize different systems, so we can compare our results.”

First Aid’s scan didn’t generate any useful observations, either, but the results were a little strange. Decepticon system scans, even when the system in question was fully functioning, always triggered warnings from First Aid’s initial medical evaluation routines, but he actually wasn’t receiving any this time.

“I think my results _are_ abnormal,” First Aid told Hook, “but unfortunately, I can’t identify the actual abnormality.  Let’s trade results?”

First Aid carefully downloaded the results of both scans into primary memory, then fed them through his diagnostic module for medical review.  There was a sudden increase in power demand during the evaluation period, and First Aid got his hopes up, but it turned out his systems just needed additional resources to decipher Hook’s results.  His diagnostic module didn’t produce any interventions, except for finally recommending the installation of a core empathy module, which of course would _not_ address the behavioral concerns.   

Megatron finally did leave the infirmary while First Aid was still evaluating, and First Aid immediately redirected all the system resources that _had_ been going toward preventing a full-on panic to his diagnostic module, but he didn’t see much improvement in the analysis.  The main difficulty was that they had no real basis for what the results _should_ be; First Aid’s diagnostic module did eventually start turning up inconsistencies, after repeated inquiries, but all of them were _Autobot_ deficiencies.  An Autobot without a core empathy module _would_ be malfunctioning and in need of immediate medical intervention, but core empathy modules were incompatible with Decepticon systems. 

First Aid eventually had to let the medical evaluation routines come to a stop.  He wished that he’d been allowed to perform system scans on the Decepticon sparklings from the sparkling facility; it would have been nice to have something to compare his results to now beyond textbook knowledge.   Better yet, he could’ve really used a consult with Ratchet. 

“I think the scans are clean,” First Aid decided, finally.  “At the very least, there definitely isn’t evidence of foreign intrusion into their systems. I don’t think the abnormalities are out of the clinically acceptable range for sparklings.”

“I haven’t found any evidence _yet_ ,” Hook said, eyeing First Aid suspiciously. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t any.”          

“Hook, you guys have had constant surveillance on the sparklings,” First Aid told him.  “You would know if we’d been catching these guys and plugging in. And you just saw for yourself—the sparklings don’t even _have_ external access ports!”

“ _This_ one doesn’t,” Scrapper interrupted.  “As far as we know, it’s the only one.” 

First Aid grimaced, looking away.  He didn’t try to argue with him, although he wanted to; the only way to prove them wrong was to find what really was causing the abnormal behavior.

“Look,” First Aid said, finally, “I _do_ have first-hand experience with Decepticon sparkling development, and you’re right—their behavior is abnormal.  But these systems scans support my original hypothesis. I think an environmental factor is at play. We need to get Soundwave’s help compiling all of the surveillance data for medical analysis.”

“And how are you going to process all of that?” Hook interrupted.  “That _has_ to be beyond your maximum data capacity.”

“I’d need access to base computer resources,” First Aid admitted. 

“Absolutely not!” Scrapper said. 

“I promise I wouldn’t try anything,” First Aid said.  “And Soundwave could supervise, he’d know right away if I tried to access anything sensitive.” 

“Hook can do it,” Scrapper told him flatly.  “You aren’t getting access to our systems.”

“I’m a surgeon, not an epidemiologist,” Hook countered.  “I should be able to write the program for it, but I don’t have the hardware for that kind of analysis.  We’ll have to build some sort of external unit to actually run the analysis.” 

“Maybe we’ll just pull the hardware out of his cranial unit and you can integrate it,” Scrapper told him.  

“I really don’t think that would work,” First Aid squeaked out. 

Scrapper’s comm unit suddenly buzzed to life, interrupting whatever he might have said next.

“We need Devastator, _now,_ ” Starscream snapped, thin and staticy over the connection.  “These fools have Superion out here barely five astrokliks away from the sparklings.”  

“Coming,” Scrapper told him, tersely.  He turned to the other Constructicons, waving them impatiently outside.  “You heard him, get moving. Get the prisoner secured and let’s go.” 

Scavenger and Long Haul maneuvered the Snatcher up off the ground long enough for Scrapper to shove the end of First Aid’s chain under it, effectively securing him in the center of the room, and they were all out of the infirmary not three astroseconds later.  First Aid watched them go with a sudden feeling of anticipatory dread. 

Sure enough, Jazz popped up out of nowhere almost immediately after the Constructicons had gone. 

First Aid let out a dismayed groan without meaning to.  “ _Jazz_ ,” he complained. It was too _early_ for a rescue—First Aid needed to isolate the negative environmental factor before he could leave. 

“Superion’s not gonna hurt the sparklin’s,” Jazz assured him, misunderstanding First Aid’s distress.  He pulled a pair of bolt cutters out of subspace and got started on First Aid’s chain. “He’s jus’ a little distraction while I get _you._ ”

First Aid focused on calming the hammering pace of his fuel pump.  Hook didn’t _have_ the necessary equipment for the environmental analysis, and he didn’t have the experience, either—none of the Decepticons did.  First Aid had to stay.   

“Alright, c’mon,” Jazz said, once the chain had been wrenched loose.  “We don’t got a lot of time, and it’s jus’ me on this little rescue mission.” 

“I can’t,” First Aid blurted out.  “We don’t know what’s wrong with the sparklings yet.” 

Jazz stopped, staring incredulously at First Aid for a long moment.  “I can’t leave ya,” he finally said. “Hook can figure it out, or Soundwave.”  He tried to take First Aid’s hand, but First Aid jerked away. 

“They _need_ me, Jazz,” he said.  “I’m the only one with sparkling experience other than Ratchet.  None of the Decepticons have worked on them before, not even Soundwave. And—” Jazz didn’t look convinced, so First Aid kept going, a little frantically, “And Megatron already thinks we’ve tampered with the sparklings!  They all do! If I _do_ go, they’re going to think that’s proof of it.  And they’re _wrong,_ but they don’t know that, the sparklings really are demonstrating abnormal behavioral patterns, I just can’t figure out what’s causing it, we even have scans now and I still haven’t found the outlying factor—”

“We don’t got time for this, First Aid,” Jazz said, tugging at him impatiently.  “The sparklin’s will be alright, but I gotta get ya out of here, or _you_ might not be.  We can get Ratchet to call and do a consult when we get back, okay?” 

“No!” First Aid cried, suddenly sure that if he _did_ leave, the Decepticons wouldn’t accept their help at all.  And why _would_ they?  The abnormal behavioral factors were benefitting the Autobots, after all.  And—and even if they did, Ratchet might not even agree to help them. He wouldn’t deny a consult when his medical expertise was clearly needed, but all First Aid had to offer was circumstantial evidence of environmental stress. 

“Okay, okay,” Jazz said, waving his hands to calm him down, and First Aid started to relax, but then Jazz pulled a pair of stasis cuffs out of his subspace.  First Aid took one look at the cuffs and did the only thing he could think of—he threw himself out of the way, and dived straight into the Snatcher’s tightly controlled electromagnetic field. 

“Ouch,” First Aid said, after his systems recovered from the initial physical shock, and his audiovisual systems had reset.  His frontal processing was clogged with pressure warnings from every localized system except for his arms and his chest, where the protective equipment was still affixed. 

“Dammit, Aid,” Jazz swore, tossing the cuffs back in subspace.  He gave First Aid’s leg an experimental tug, but First Aid wasn’t going anywhere until the Snatcher was powered down. Jazz seemed to come to the same conclusion, but before he could make any headway on _that,_ the heavy rumble of approaching Decepticons sounded from outside. 

“You need to go before they get here,” First Aid told him, worried.  “They won’t let you stay with me, you have to get out of here.” 

Jazz stopped and rubbed his hands across his face.  “Okay, First Aid.” He started to move away, then stopped and placed a hand on First Aid’s leg where it was dangling off the edge of the Snatcher.  “We’ll get ya out, okay? Don’t worry, whatever Soundwave did to your brain, Ratchet can fix it.” 

With that, Jazz took off, making it out of the infirmary just as the sounds of disengaging thrusters and Decepticons landing sounded outside.  First Aid sighed deeply. He tried to lean his head back into a more comfortable position, but it was stuck too firmly to the Snatcher to move.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter, guys—I got very distracted by my big bang fic, but now that it's up, I finally have time & mental room for my other stories. I hope you enjoyed First Aid's POV in this chapter; thanks for reading, and please let me know what you thought!! All feedback is loved & greatly appreciated <3


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